


Trust Issues

by thatonewriterchick



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Lights Out Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 16:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12964002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonewriterchick/pseuds/thatonewriterchick
Summary: While the Dragonborn can be naive, she is also deadly. The Argonian siblings Deeja and Jaree-Ra are about to discover this. Spoilers for the quest Lights Out!





	Trust Issues

**Author's Note:**

> This is also posted on Deviant Art under my other name VanquiishedBrownese. I figured I should move it over here, since I'm rarely there, haven't made a post here and feel kinda bad about it. (Though I have a few Destiny 2 pieces coming!) 
> 
> As in the summary, know there are spoilers for the quest Lights Out. I hope you enjoy - feel free to tell me how it sits with you!

It was a trap.

That was Nym’s first thought as she knelt on the edge of the lake, watching faint figures pace on the ship. Cold seeped into her bones and she drew her hood closer before clenching her fists. It was likely she would need her weapons soon and her hands were as much part of her arsenal as her bow and arrows. 

This was why she shouldn’t have trusted strangers to find loot – they chose cold places she didn’t dare ride Frost to, lest he die by his namesake. It didn’t escape her that this location was also secluded. _A good place to kill someone…_

She shifted to a crouch, making the long way around the stretch of ice and water.

Not because she was worried about being seen by those aboard the crashed ship. The blistering cold winds, filled with snow and bits of ice, made vision problematic at best. The wildlife, however, seemed to have had no trouble seeing her along the long trek. She had a few new pelts for Belethor when she returned to Whiterun. And a new scar as well.

The alpha wolf’s tooth now hung about her throat on a leather thong, but she was so numb, it was impossible to feel its slight weight. Which was good, as her shoulder’s phantom pains had been bothersome despite the healing magic poured into it. Just the thought of the bite made her pride ache as she thought of how close she’d come to being ended by a pack of wolves.

The bards would’ve had a great fun singing of her unlikely death; a Shouting warrior that could suck the soul out of hulking dragon carcasses in swirling white light.

Dragged out of a sleeping bag and eaten alive by common wolves.

How would it be worded to rhyme? Perhaps she really should’ve gone to that Bard school… Shaking herself out of her reverie, she forced herself to focus.

Hiding by an outcropping of rocks, she counted. One black robed figure strolling between the loading dock and an iced over sand bar where another shadowy human-like shape stood. The third man stood at the top of the dock, vanishing and reappearing from sight every few minutes.

Instinct told her to leave cover with her weapons drawn, but she stood and strolled toward the man in the robes as he approached.

“Ah,” he shouted over the wind at the sight of her. “Deeja is expecting you in the hold.”

Nym didn’t break stride, though she was a little surprised her arrival didn’t result in the immediate drawing of weapons. Still, she was uneasy as she stepped on deck.

There were a few men moving crates and barrels closer to the dock. They ignored her as she passed and she stepped through the door. Yet another man sat at a small table, his massive form swallowing the small chair he perched on. He spared her nothing but a glance as she made her way down the steps.

It wasn’t warmer inside, but without the wind howling around her, it almost felt so. More rooms, more steps. She paused long enough to poke through the unattended ones, grabbing loose gold from cupboards and side tables.

Because the longer it took her to get to Deeja, the more she was aware this really was a trap. She wondered what truly awaited her in the hold as she tucked a petty soul gem into one of her many pockets and crouched in the shadows of a bedroom to pick a lock.

A few rooms later, she found the first one.

The body was strewn across the bed, blood soaking the already dirtied bedding beneath him.

She closed her eyes for a moment. His garb said he was a sailor. The gaping red smile at his throat told her how naïve she had been when she’d agreed to this. Jaree-Ra had told her he would spare the sailors. But why would he? It wasn’t as though they would have been willing to let someone come aboard and take all their valuables.

Nym should have left the Solitude lighthouse alone.

She took the man’s valuables – he wouldn’t be needing them – and crouched as she left the room. It was important that she find every Blackblood Marauder on the ship. After she left the hold, they would attack.

 _Unfortunately for them_ , she thought, slipping into another room. _She was not just any cutthroat to be fooled and ambushed._ However naïve she might be.

There was yet another man sitting at a table. She made it halfway through the room before he noticed her with a start, his hand falling to his great sword where it lay on the warped wood. He relaxed a second later. “Deeja’s waiting for you,” he grunted with a nod toward the steps.

“So I’ve heard.” Nym descended the steps, pausing at the sight of the thigh-high waters covering half the wooden planks. She moved to the left side of the room, closer to the last goon who stood beneath a rack of dangling herbs.

“Deeja’s-“

“Waiting for me,” Nym finished, edging around him and heading for the door at the back of the waterlogged space. “Thanks.”

The Argonian didn’t notice Nym as she entered, nor as she closed them both inside. But Nym noticed the massive chest the other female was going through.

“Your brother sent me,” Nym said, when she was almost beside the reptilian woman.

Nym always took an almost perverse pleasure in her ability to move about others without their knowledge. As Deeja jumped and shrank away instinctively, Nym gave her a cold smile, though it went unseen behind the wooden Dragon Priest mask she’d picked up months ago.

 _Please don’t think you’re really going to trap me here._ It would take that much longer to move everything back home. It was good gold for her pockets, but tedious all the same. “I’d really love my half of the cut now,” Nym told her, voice muffled by the mask.

Deeja straightened, her sharp teeth flashing as she spoke. “You did very well with the lighthouse,” she noted. “And I do have your cut – a quick death!”

Nym heard the blade as Deeja unsheathed it and cursed herself for standing so close she couldn’t draw either her sword or bow. Dodging back gave her a bit of the space she needed, but forced her into a corner. Habit made her draw the bow despite the small space to work with and Deeja took an arrow to the shoulder before she could close in.

Her hiss of pain was satisfying, but not quite as the muted thunk of the next arrow catching Deeja in the throat. The dagger fell from her clawed hand as it scrambled at the wound, blood pushing out of her scaly throat and between her clawed fingers. After a few moments, the gurgles ceased and she lay still, glossy eyes staring at nothing.

“Deeja?” Came a voice on the other side of the door. Nym didn’t answer, didn’t move from the corner as she took aim.

A second later the door swung open, the man from beneath the herbs filling the doorway. “What the - “ Was all he managed before he, too, took an arrow that silenced him forever.

Nym waited a few moments, for the one wielding the great sword to come barreling down the steps. She could hear the faint howl of the winds, the water as it lapped at the wood and her own heart in her ears. Moving to Deeja, she pulled the valuables and a letter. She read it once, twice. Let the rage boil through her veins.

The scrawled words on the page made her hands tremble as she tucked it away. “…fool who did our work at the lighthouse…” _…fool, fool, fool…_.

Which she was. Because she had been foolish enough to trust some stranger to keep his word.

It took a while to clean up the soldiers left on the ship and the one on the sandbar who had been guarding a rowboat. It took even longer to pick the ship clean, packing up the food, weapons, armor and books, putting them onto the rowboat. She would have them packed up better and shipped off to Whiterun as soon as she hit the first town she came across.

As she pushed off shore and struggled against the current, she cursed herself and Jaree-Ra as the Icerunner grew smaller and smaller.  
Broken Oar Grotto was what the note had said.

That was where she would find Jaree-Ra to curse him in person.

***

The long trek from Solitude to the almost hidden cave along the coastline should have given her time to cool off. No play on words intended, though she really did need to visit that Bard school… But as the days slipped by and she took a break only to scale mountains topped with dragons and slabs of stones with new Shouts, thinking of Deeja and Jaree-Ra made her angry all over again.

_…fool who did our work…_

It hadn’t been ‘work’ to travel to the lighthouse; she had made it horseback on a stallion she’d borrowed from a caravan decimated by bandits. It hadn’t been difficult to douse the lighthouse’s unattended flame, either.

But to be mistaken so easily for some common thug who could be dealt with got under her skin. As she stood on the banks of the stretching waters before her, harvesting glowing nirnroot, she wondered not for the first time if she should make it known she was dragonborn. That she was one to be feared and respected and revered.

Just as before, she decided being well-known wouldn’t help.

Not even she had known her identity when she’d woken on an Imperial wagon, hands bound, head throbbing and on her way to having it removed from her shoulders. How many years had she wasted, going to healers in different holds, hoping to trigger memories as quests piled up and she’d gone from one end of the land to the other? Obviously she was not meant to know herself, why should anyone else?

Moving unseen and unheard was easier when no one knew who you were, besides. So in the shadows she would stay.

Gravel and sand crunched beneath her boots as she made her way to the gaping black maw that led to the grotto. That familiar rage built in her as she stepped inside to show Jaree-Ra what his sister had already learned.

This fool was not one to be trifled with.

It took one glance to realize this trip was going to take a lot more loot shipments than the Icerunner. Barrels and crates were stacked tall beside the stairs.

The buffoon standing in the empty boat by the docks took an arrow with a grunt of surprise and pain, drawing the attention of the guard above who came to investigate.

And so the count began.

Nym took her time, clinging to the shadows and picking off men one by one, smothering the torches as she went. On occasion, a mercenary would somehow sense her in, growling out threats and pacing about until she ended them.

It was almost like any other bandit cave until she found the ships at the end. Ramps and stairs built around the main part of wreckage made it into some type of crude building that stretched toward the cave ceiling.

She could see two halves of a rotting ship jutting out of the water on either side of the well-lit tower, but otherwise the space was empty.  
Lanterns and pots of oil kept the area bright, making it easy to see about a half dozen marauders moving to and fro. Some carried crates, but a couple were stationed to stand guard, staring at walls and water.

 _Must get tiresome_ , Nym thought, drawing her bow. _It would be her pleasure to liven things up a bit…_

The closest soldier made a funny noise when the arrow hit him in the back, his arms pinwheeling as he fell into the waters below. Bubbles came up before he did, his head bobbing as he struggled to swim against the pain and the arrow in him. He managed a couple of moments longer before sinking beneath the water and not appearing again.

“Is someone there?” A woman shouted, coming to stand near the man’s post.

Nym snorted and wondered why the she wasted her breath. Did she truly expect Nym to answer? She could, of course. Waving and smiling and asking to speak to Jaree-Ra, who had promised her loot. Jaree-Ra, who had paid instead with his sister’s and thugs’ lives, weapons and armor. She could ask if he planned to pay up with the money or if he would pay with his and the others’ lives as well.

 _No_ , Nym decided, sending another arrow whistling through the air. _She was no longer in a gracious mood._

The fool asking the questions chose that moment to give up on the noise she heard, turning and starting back up the steps. The arrow sunk into the wood where she stood a second before and she gave a shout of surprise, drawing her blade.

Nym breathed out a curse and watched as the alarm went up, the marauders dropping their tasks to gather weapons and search for their attacker.

She held steady until someone moved from the main ship’s light to the edge of the dark. He fell back without a sound, dead on impact. The next soldier didn’t react in time, tripping over the body and landing atop the other in an unceremonious heap. It was hard to distinguish him from his dead friend and it took two arrows to kill him.

Three more figures charged into the dark and headed toward her. She killed the one closest to her, but the other two were too close to draw again.

“I’ll end you!” The first shouted, swinging a mace in her direction. She threw herself to the side, scrambling to her feet.

The second was right there, grunting as he swung his great sword.

Nym pushed herself out of the way again, nothing but the thick rope lining the walkway keeping her from tumbling to the waters below. The sudden pressure and pain in her left shoulder made her gasp. She found the source jutting out of her leather armor, a sleek bit of wood ended with a fletching. The irony was not lost on her, but she was irritated as she pulled it free, hissing in pain.

“I’ve got you now!” The mace wielder crowed, the weapon coming at her in a wide arc.

Pushing against the ground, she forced herself into a somersault that launched her backward. As she fell, she fumbled for a potion to at least heal the wound some. Fighting with her right hand was likely to get her killed and using a bow was near impossible.

Hitting the water was sudden and like hitting solid ground, the pain of it stealing her breath as she sank. It worsened in her shoulder as she kicked, working her right arm to propel her upward. She gulped in air as she broke the surface, taking a few shuddering breaths between coughs.

She pulled the mask from her face, setting it on the surface of the water and praying it wouldn’t sink. It bobbed along the surface, but she did too, her right arm barely keeping her treading.

“I got him!” Came a shout from above and she saw it was an archer on the second story, punching his bow into the air in victory.

 _Yes_ , Nym agreed. _But not as good she would get him._

Taking a deep breath, she let her right arm fall to the potion pouch as she sank. She pushed the corked mouth to her lips and came up for another drink of air. Pulling the little stopper free with her teeth, she spat it out and swallowed the bitter medicine, the warmth inside her hot as it rushed to the wound and faded a few seconds later.

Nym rolled her left shoulder, testing. It ached, but the pain had dulled and she could live with that. But she would not be using her bow for the rest of this fight. Next, she found her mask, which had floated a good few feet away, but was far too valuable to let go so easily.

Treading water, she tried to count who was left. Of the men, she hadn’t seen Jaree-Ra among the attackers. But he was there, somewhere. Now that they thought she was dealt with, the marauders were returning to their work.

She found the first man she’d killed on the way to shore. Picked the potion from him and felt its fires burn the rest of her wound out of existence. After helping herself to his iron dagger, she made her way to the set of stairs that led to the building.

Nym felt exposed as she crouched in the muted shadows of the lanterns, peering around the corner. But then she saw the Argonian at the top of the ramp, leaning against a large chest and staring at a slip of paper. She almost started for him, but stopped short as one of the marauders came from the higher floor to exchange words.

There were three left at least, she knew. The mace, the great sword and the archer. But the one she really wanted stood twenty or so paces away, picking up where he left off as his lackey shuffled out of sight again.

And then she had an idea.

The Greybeards likely didn’t have this in mind when they told her about forging a path with her Voice. Still, she couldn’t have been the first dragonborn to use her power for less than honorable means. That’s what she liked to tell herself, anyway. It had been almost fun to use the different Shouts she’d learned; most of the time, she used her favorite Unrelenting Force.

But this would be more useful, for once.

“You should have just shared, you know,” she said, throwing her voice.

She knew it had come from the direction she’d intended when he gave a start, looking up from his page and to the right. He looked about a few seconds longer, even behind the chest before settling back against the sturdy wood.

She waited a few moments longer, before she spoke again. “Your sister is dead.”

His dagger glinted in the lantern light as he unsheathed it, stepping out of the alcove. He looked up in the direction the man had spoken to him, then down toward Nym. He hesitated and looked about one last time.

“You’re going to die too,” Nym added, making sure it was right in his ear.

She relished the way he spun around, slashing his dagger through empty air.

“You shouldn’t have come here!” Jaree-Ra rasped in a half shout. But there was little confidence in it, a slight tremble to his hand as he backed himself into his space.

She palmed the dagger and breathed the words that shot her forward. He went from twenty paces to one in the blink of an eye. His yellow gaze went wide at the sight of her, very alive and seemingly out of nowhere. And then they went wider still as she buried the dagger into him. “You shouldn’t have lied,” she returned on a whisper.

Nym gave the knife a twist, moving with him as he sank to the ground. She cast a glance over her shoulder to see the man from earlier lying in bed, his back turned to them. Then she smiled an unseen smile down at the Argonian.

He gaped at her, his mouth moving, though only blood spilled out. His scaled hands cupped hers, perhaps trying to pull the dagger out, but too weak to do so.

“You should’ve just shared the goods,” she murmured, watching his eyes roll about. They moved to her as he gave a muted cough and she leaned back to avoid the spray of blood. Nym leaned close, tempted to pull the mask free so he could see her eye to eye in his last moments. But there weren’t many of those left, so she settled on giving him his last words of this world. “Now? I’m going to take everything.”

He made a few more pitiful noises, spewing once more before stilling.

Nym stayed at his side a few moments longer, waiting. But there was no relief at his death, just a semi-familiar restlessness. She stood and tested her left arm, wishing she had the strength in it to draw. With a sigh, she yanked the iron blade from Jaree-Ra’s body and went to dispatch the last three Blackblood Marauders.

Once they were dead, she cleared out the Argonian’s space to set up camp for a bit. She would need her arm on the trip back home and she was tired besides. She removed her armor and clothes, setting them out to dry. Examining the spot in her shoulder, she found it pink and shriveled, already forming a new scar. One last potion took the lingering ache before she ate her fill of bread and goat cheese, washing it down with mead.

Stretching out on the bed, tired and a little buzzed, she realized that with this little ordeal over, she could head back home and rest for a while. Sell all of the armor and weapons Adrianne could afford and decide what would come next.

She could bother Belethor again, see if he had anything good… Sitting up, she remembered the last time she’d come from the Breton’s shop. A courier had met her halfway to Breezehome, gasping for breath, thrusting a single slip of folded paper in her direction. But she’d been distracted and irritated because Belethor accused her of expecting a discount because she, too, was a Breton – which was rude and untrue. She’d put the unread note in her pocket with the others and hadn’t thought of it since.

Throwing herself out of bed with a curse, she stumbled across the room, fishing page after page of soggy sheets out of her drying pockets.

She cursed as she unfolded them so they could dry out. There were treasure maps, which had been crude drawings when dry and were now smears of black and red. Bounties which were little more than blurred letters that had bled across the page. As she opened the last one, she gave a pause, as it was the first time she’d seen it.

Unlike the others, its message was untouched by the water, though the page was still wet. It was short and to the point, though she wasn’t sure what it meant.

A single black handprint and beneath it, two words.

**We know**

She stood staring at the page for a while, wondering who they were and what they knew. But the last months had been a blur of faces, places and tasks. She left the page on the table with the others and had some more mead, letting it warm her to her toes before she settled in bed, drawing the furs up over her.

As sleep washed away her consciousness, the hand print was fixed on the back of her eyelids.

They knew.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I wrote this before I began to read other Bethesda type fics; it didn't occur to me that authors wrote fics for different universes and my mind was blown. I immediately began to play other characters, but Nym was one of my first playthroughs and holds a special place in my heart.


End file.
